


Bawson Oneshots

by MrsCox



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Don't @ Me if they are, F/M, Fluffy, Hopefully They aren't Gross, Look at all these things I wrote, With the slightest bit of smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-15 22:59:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9261926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsCox/pseuds/MrsCox
Summary: A bunch of bawson ficlets that were previously only available on my tumblr, enjoy!





	1. Please Don't Go

"If you were to leave," I whisper, "what would I do? Where would I go?" 

I didn’t have to ask to figure out what was happening. With his suitcase in hand and his expression grim, I knew he had come to say goodbye.

“Baker,” he started, his voice gruff and thick with apologies he couldn’t seem to get out, “Please -”

“Wait,” I threw a hand up, hating myself for the tears that pricked at the back of my eyes, “just, don’t, okay? Because I know what you’re going to say, that you don’t want to go, but you have to. And I know what I’m supposed to do. I know I’m supposed to hug you goodbye and wish you well, but I can’t. And it’ll just make it harder for us both.” I stopped, catching my bottom lip between my teeth. “And I don’t want to be that girl, the one that asks you to stay. But if you do this, if you say what you came to say, then I’ll have to.”

He stilled, emotion too quick to understand flitting across his face, one after the other until he settled on grim determination. “Do it.”

“What?”

Letting his suitcase fall, he stepped closer, so close that I couldn’t see past the storm raging in his eyes, and that idiotic beard, and everything Mike. “Ask me, Ginny. Ask me to stay.”


	2. Wouldn't You Like To Know

"You're sort of kinky, aren't you?"

Ginny Baker wasn’t the type to shy away from a challenge. Even when every fiber of her being was screaming to proceed with caution, that Mike Lawson, with his twinkling eyes and cocked eyebrow was danger. But her teammates were watching her and that second beer was working through her system faster than expected, so she leaned forward and dragged her tongue over the length of her bottom lip.

“You want details?” She purred, taking a sick satisfaction in the way Mike’s smile seemed to dim. “How all you really have to do is bend me over and…” she let her voice trail off, chewing on the inside of her cheek to keep from smirking. “You know what, never mind, you guys probably aren’t that interested.”

Omar slammed forward, his chin slipping from it’s perch on his hand. “What?” He cried, shaking away the daze that had clung to him when she stared to speak. “I mean,” he cleared his throat, “I’m gonna get another round.”

“Thanks O,” she said, her gaze tangled with Mike, a dark promise lingering in the tension brewing between them. Because he would be remembering this for later, when he had her bent over her couch, his name falling from her lips and nothing but _Ginny, Ginny, Ginny_  marching through his mind.

The kinkier stuff, she would save for later. She might be trying to send him to an early grave, but she wanted to have some fun with it first.


	3. You Would Think You've Never Seen A Pair of Boobs

“Jesus!”

Mike was never particularly religious. Sure, his mom took him to church when she could be bothered, and Rachel had been a Christmas and Easter catholic, dragging him along once he was too tired to put up a fight. But still, Mike found himself cursing and thanking God in equal measures as Ginny ran through the clubhouse at five in the morning, dripping wet and humming.

“Baker!” He cried, twisting in his chair before he could get a good look at any of her…intimates? Private areas? Fuck, she was trying to do him in.

She darted into her room, twisting a towel around her torso before walking back out. “Forgot my towel,” she explained, “besides, usually I’m here by myself.”

“Well,” he sputtered, feeling a blush creep up the back of his neck, “you aren’t now. So, damn it, you decent yet?”

“If you’re asking if anything that should be covered is, then yes,” she huffed out a chuckle, tightening her towel as she perched on the edge of his chair. “I’m sort of surprised. You would think the hook up king of San Diego would be less squeamish. I’m sure there’s a bronzed thong out there with your name on it.”

“I’ve never coming in early again,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face and willing the image of Ginny, wide-eyed and very, _very_  naked from his head. “Ever.”

“Oh come on,” Ginny laughed, “it couldn’t have been that bad.”

Bad. Right. Mike shoved his hands into his pocket, thinking of Skip in a bikini and nothing else. Fuck, it was going to be a long day.


	4. Nice and Slow, Rookie

"So those kinks you mentioned earlier... What are they? And tell me slow, rookie."

“Well,” Ginny started, moving her hands over his shirt, the material spreading as she made quick work of the buttons. “I can’t really tell you,” his expression faltered, just for a moment, and a part of him wondered when exactly he’d become so damned _eager_. “But,” she simpered, pushing his shirt from his shoulders. “I can show you.”

He swallowed roughly, earning a wicked grin as Ginny led him over to the bed, letting himself be pushed onto the ridiculously patterned sheets. Cupcakes, an impulse buy she’d warned him as they’d walked in, and the only clean ones she had during laundry day.

“Baker,” she stretched out across his lap, shooting him a quick, fluttering look that rocketed straight down to his crotch. “What’re you doing?”

“You said you wanted kinky,” she purred, “and now I’m saying that I’ve been a bad, _bad_  girl.” She shrugged, an invitation if he’d ever seen one as her skirt pulled up, flashing that ass that doubled as a weapon hellbent on his destruction. “You gonna do something about that, Lawson? From what I remember, you should be pretty good at this.”

He paused, a quick second to let her back out like that tiny part in the back of his mind thought she might, but when all that met him was an impatient cock of an eyebrow, he grinned. “Yeah, I think I can manage.”

He brought his hand down on the curve of her ass, unsure of which would be his undoing, her sharp little inhale or the moan that came after. “Say it.”

“I need to be punished,” she whimpered, words coated in laughter and longing and something he would deal with later, “captain.”

“God, Baker,” he grit out, rubbing his hand along her warm skin before bringing his hand back down, again and again until she was squirming over him and he was desperate to touch every little bit of her that she would allow. So, it was all sorts of relief when she leaned up and kissed him.

“If that’s it,” he murmured later, as they fought to catch their breath and his muscles were gloriously sore, “I think we’ll be more than good.”

She pressed herself to his side, her lips kissing a path over his collarbone before nipping at the hollow of his neck. “Who said that’s it, Old Man? But don’t worry,” her fingers, callused but soft, wrapped around him, “I’ll take it _slow_.” She watched him through her lashes, the same flickers of passion she had on the mound flashing through her gaze, “for now.”


	5. Ginny Baker and her Bar

"Rookie get off the bar, I swear to fucking god!"

Ginny glared down at Mike as he threw his hands up, desperate to protect her from some imagined danger. Typical. She’d try for unsurprised if it weren’t for the annoyance coursing through her veins. Planting a hand on her hip, she nudged him away with her foot, crouching down to throw a quick look back to the bartender as he dried a cup.

“This okay?”

He shrugged, amusement glimmering in his gaze. “You’re already up there.”

“Fantastic,” she drawled, stretching back up onto her toes and daring any one of her teammates to order her down again. “Now that I have your attention, it’s time we had a little discussion about all the clubhouse talk.”

Leaning back in his chair, Blip bit back a grin. “And you have to do it from up there, Gin?”

Ginny paused, her lips pursing as she took note of the dozens of phone cameras trained to her every move. “Yes,” she decided, “because then when there’re witnesses, none of you asshats will be able to say anything.”

Mike watched her from his perch beside the bar, every part of him tense as she began to stroll across the lacquered mahogany. “Rookie,” he growled, his fingers twitching as she looped around. “Make your point.”

Rolling her eyes, she nodded over to where the jukebox stood, just as decrepit as always but functional. “Dusty, you want to help me out?”

Mike could feel the exact moment something inside of her electrified. The melody of some R&B song drifted through the air and she swung her hips, her hair tumbling into her face and her smile doing something chaotic to the pit of his stomach. The words fell from her lips easily, and even though he didn’t know the song, suddenly it was the only thing he wanted to hear ever again.

And then she began to sing.

“ _Girl, you know you better watch out_ ,” she dangled a beer bottle from her fingers, a makeshift microphone the she brought to her lips for a quick swig. “ _Some guys, some guys are only about, that thing, that thing, that thing…”_ she winked down at him, and fuck him for being weak. Because this wasn’t the girl who stretched to the warbled tune of Katy Perry. No, this woman, with a voice like dripping honey, a waterfall of black hair that he was desperate to run his hands through, and damn it, that cute little grin she wore like an armor of innocence, even as she fluttered her lashes and swiveled her hips in a ways that felt filthy, was a whole different animal.

Because this felt purposeful.

This felt like the dancing and the singing and the way her eyes stayed glued to his, was all for his benefit.

He let her sing, his surprise giving way to something darker. “Help a girl out?” She nodded down to him, her grin growing as his hands moved over the curve of her waist and pulled her down from her stage.

“Didn’t know you rapped,” he murmured, suddenly breathless. She was so close, her back pressed to the bar and his hips _just_  brushing against hers.

Tilting her chin up, her grip on his shoulders tightening. “I’m full of surprises.” She replied, letting out a peal of giggles as Salvamani started what could only be considered the worst rendition of Beyonce’s Single Ladies. “You gonna stop telling people I’m tone deaf now?”

“This’ll probably end up on the internet tomorrow, so yeah, I guess I have too, Rook.” He inched in closer, until his body was melded to hers and that desperation he’d been holding back all night was free to race through his blood. “You’re not a shit singer, shockingly enough.”

She arched an eyebrow. “That song,” she grinned, “you ever heard it?” He shook his head, and that smile was back, the one that promised more than he could handle. “Well, it says some guys only want one thing from a girl,” he swallowed, a rough motion that drew her eyes down, “what do you want?”

“Baker.”

“Lawson,” she hummed back, bridging the last bit of space between them, “it’s an easy question. What do you want?” Her breath tickled his upper lip and his hands flexed around her waist, aching to feel her without the damn sweat-wicking material keeping them apart. 

“Yo, Baker,” someone called, making them spring apart with a gasp that ripped through her throat. “Come show them how it’s really done.” She laughed, shaking away the heat that lingered to her skin.

“You find me some Lemonade and another beer, and maybe I will,” she called, sparing one last glance at him. “You let me know when you decide.” She hummed, patting his chest before heading back over to the guys, her hands thrown in the air and her grin carefree.

What did he want? He watched her spin, his heart fluttering with each new flash of her annoyingly beautiful face, and he decided. Because Mike Lawson had always been a pretty rational man. And no man in his right mind wouldn’t want Ginny Baker.


	6. Three Wishes

"You get three wishes, but they better not be gross."

It had been Evelyn’s idea, as was most of Ginny’s more regrettable decisions. She’d wanted to do something different for Mike, something that let him know how much he’d helped her when she was a rookie dealing with insurmountable pressure and the voices screaming all the thoughts that bounced around her head. 

That she couldn’t do it.

That she would fail.

That all the people who relied on her, those shrieking girls and skeptical teammates, even the unrelenting memory of her father, would be let down.

So, she’d wanted to do something different, something special, something that showed Mike how much she loved - how much she respected him.

Still, this was probably the last time she’d trust anything Evelyn said. Because how _I want Mike to realize how much he means to me_  turned into Ginny in an ill-fitting genie costume and a dubious Mike Lawson sitting in front of her was just a little too much to comprehend.

“Three wishes,” he echoed, his eyes roving over her and the costume that revealed more than it covered in a way that made her flush. He stroked a thumb along his chin, cocking an eyebrow up as she tugged at the bottom of her stupidly short skirt.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice coming out falsely bright. “Like, if you want someone to cook you dinner, I can do that.” He scoffed, and she kicked a foot out, nudging his leg with her toe. “Hey, I _can_.”

“I think I’ll pass,” he snorted, standing onto knees that had played their last game, and headed towards the door.

“No, wait,” Ginny cried, racing forward as quickly as the dumb purple-sequined heels would carry her. “We can do something else.”

“Rookie,” he said slowly, “it’s been a long day. Hell, it’s been a long sixteen years. The only thing I _wish_ for right now, is a nap and a six-pack.”

“Fine,” she nodded, “okay. Give me like five minutes to change, and then we can head over to your place.”

“Don’t bother, Baker.”

“Mike,” she called, heaving out a sigh, “please. I just, I want to be there for you, like you were for me for _years_. And if that’s not today, then fine. But this can’t be easy for you, so I’ll be here. Whenever you call, whenever you need, I don’t know, someone.” She shrugged, feeling young and stupid and impossibly naïve. “So, go home and enjoy your beer, I guess.”

He watched her for a quick moment that stretched into hours before letting his bag fall from his shoulder and striding forward. “Three wishes,” he murmured, crowding into her space and ripping a gasp from her throat. “One, you never offer to cook for me again. Ever.”

“Deal,” she gulped, jumping as one warm, callused hand slid along her waist and the other curled in her hair. “The second?”

“This outfit on the floor of my bedroom.”

She inhaled sharply, letting him guide her back until she felt the wall, his breath tickling the top of her lip. “And the last?”

“To kiss the girl that’s been driving me up a fucking wall the last three years.”

“Granted,” she surged forward, fitting her mouth against his and sighing into the kiss she hadn’t realized she’d longed for since Mike had slapped her ass before her first start. 

“Really,” he murmured against her lips, “this entire bit? Inspired.”

“Thank Evelyn,” she let out a squeak as he hiked her up. His knees screamed and his back throbbed, but Ginny’s legs were around his hips and, God, if he’d known that all he’d have to do to see miles and miles of smooth brown legs and flat stomach was to retire, he’d been out of the clubhouse long ago. “I said no gross.” Her head fell back, his lips painting a scorching path along her neck.

“Get back to me tomorrow morning.”


	7. Ginny Grab Your Gun

"Ginny, put the fucking gun down!"

“Why do you even _have_  a gun?” She asked, the pistol dangling from her fingertips and her steps uncertain as she twirled around the room. 

“Baker…” he warned, his hands jutting out to catch her before she had the chance to fall.

“Do a lot of hunting?” She snorted, throwing a wicked grin back to him. “Oh God, grumpy Mike Lawson chilling with grumpy bears being grumpy. I’d pay to see that.”

“Baker, please,” Mike blanched as Ginny squared her hips, lifting the gun and cocking an eyebrow.

“Or this how you impress the girls?” She wondered aloud. “Pull out your rifle, promise you aren’t shooting blanks?” Swiveling around, she squinted an eye. “And then, _bang.”_

“Jesus, Baker!”

She screamed when the trigger went off, the sound shattering the hazy peace that had settled over her once Mike had invited her to his place for a beer, or four, and a surprisingly delicious dinner. Mike blinked, his heart thrumming faster than his aging bones should have been able to handle. He looked just to his right, at the destruction that was formerly his flat screen, and willed his lungs to quit trying to give up on him.

“Mike,” she shook her head, one hand plastered over her mouth and the other holding the gun who’s safety was very much not on like previously assumed.

“You shot at me,” he breathed, “I mean, I get it, I promised not to use cilantro tonight and I did, but a bit of an overreaction, Rook.”

“I - I didn’t, I didn’t mean to - “ she let him snatch the gun away, his movements slow as he took in the tremors rocking through her body and her quivering fingers.

“You’d think a professional pitcher would have better aim,” he said gently, setting the gun down and sliding his hands along her shoulders, “and you’re buying me a new TV.”

She hiccuped out a chuckle, some of the tension leaking from her as he lead her up the stairs. “Whatever.”

“You’re crashing here tonight, Killer.” She sagged into him, her lips stretching into a yawn and her hair ticking his cheek. “And, Rookie?”

She hummed, bouncing onto his bed and hugging his pillow to her chest. It smelled of him, like mint and sweat and sandalwood blended with cardamon and violet.

“I never shoot blanks.” And maybe it was from the near death experience, or the drowsy way she stared up at him, but he leaned forward and brushed a lingering kiss to her forehead. “Sleep tight, Baker.”

“You too, old man,” she murmured. She would deal with the feel of his lips against her skin and the urge to call him back later. For now, she burrowed underneath his sheets, pulled his pillow in just a little bit tighter, and went to sleep.


	8. Bet Against The House

"When you said strip poker, this isn't what I had in mind."

“You mean you thought I wouldn’t know how to play?” Ginny asked, cocking her head to the side as Mike squirmed underneath her gaze. She nodded over to the pile of clothes laying to the side of them before taking her deck of cards and quirking an eyebrow. “You sure you wanna go again? Because you might feel a little naked without _those_.” Her eyes darted pointedly to Mike’s cupcake covered boxers.

“Rookie,” he ground out, “I _will_  be naked without them.”

“I’ll deal,” she chirped cheerfully, adjusting the strap of her tank top with a smirk. “And, with the way you’ve been playing, you’ll lose.”

“Okay,” he surged forward, his arms unfurling from around his chest long enough to wave away the cards she handed him. “How about instead of traumatizing Salvamani with my wrinkly old ass, you let me off the hook instead?”

Peeking up at him through her lashes, she bit down on her lip, oblivious to the chaos she was stirring in his stomach. “Don’t sell yourself short, Lawson. I’ve seen that ass, and it could definitely be worse.”

“Glowing praise, Rookie, really, I’m blushing.”

“You wanted to make a deal?” She asked, craning forward with a mischievous glimmer dancing in her eyes. “Fine. I’ll save you Salvamani’s psychiatrist’s bill, if you do something for me.”

“No more karaoke, Baker, please. Especially if you’re planning on bringing Duarte. The two of you are so terrible, you would think you’d cancel each other out, and yet, my ears still ring every time it rains.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Old Man. Livan and I are gonna rock Beyonce and Jay-Z tonight, so it’s your loss. But my deal actually comes after. It ends with you waiting until we get back to my place to drop those boxers, if you’re interested.”

Clearing his throat, he fought back the surprise that still came even after a month of this, of taking the urges that had plagued him since meeting the one and only Ginny Baker, and realizing that she needed him too. “You’re trouble.”

“That your dementia at work, or did it just take you this long to realize it?” He arched forward, ignoring the tinge in his back long enough to feel her breath tickle his upper lip.

“Would you believe me if I said a little of both?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, her lips just brushing his, “I would.” His eyes fluttered close just as she ducked to the side, flipping her cards and letting out a triumphant holler. “Unless you can beat a full house, I win. Again.”

“Damn it, Baker!”


	9. Three Years and A Day

If someone had told him it would be three years since he'd spoken to her, he would have laughed. And then punched them. And then laughed some more.

But, somewhere along the way, her calls became more and more sporadic. And the texts, the ones that always managed to bring a smile to his face, whether he was in the Cubs clubhouse or sneaking out of some girl’s apartment, lessened with every day that went by. 

Still, it wasn’t until Blip invited him to his house for the boys’ twelfth birthday party that Mike started doing the math. It had been 1,198 days since he’d seen that ridiculous smile of hers, 987 days since her last call, and he’d just felt pathetic as he scrolled through text after text searching for her name.

Hell, he’d gone far past pathetic as he scoured the internet for any and all mention of her. For those hours, he’d made a different choice, a better one. He’d decided to stay in the one city that felt like home with the team that had been his family for thirteen years. He was there for her kiss with that tech guy, was there to mock her dopey grin even as his heart thudded to the beat of _I’m losing her, I’m losing her, I’m losing her._  He was there for the day that Noah got down on knees that didn’t throb when it rained, and pulled out a ring that just screamed of his stupid billions. It was a wonder that damned rock didn’t mess with her game.

And he was standing right there when every tabloid and their senile mother were reporting on the breakup of the century between the queen of baseball and her tech nerd king. They had a surprising amount of detail, that Ginny had pitched her curveball to Noah when she handed back the ring, that she’d done it to focus on her game because a fiancee just didn’t pair well with a shot at the playoffs. But, they didn’t tell him what he really wanted to know. Like, who’d she had called in the middle of the night to talk through this decision. Or how she dealt with the loneliness now that she, like him, had no one.

And he was there for when the Padres, captained by one Blip Sanders, not only made it to the playoffs, but won it the year after he found victory with the cubs. So, Ginny had traded in one ring for another, and suddenly all the questions of her regrets screeched to a halt. And once his eyes burned and his computer battery died, he wondered how he could have missed it all. How he’d been relegated to the audience in Ginny’s life when for a time all he wanted was to have a supporting role.

“So,” he started, knocking his knuckles against the dashboard of Blip’s car as they drove away from the airport, “how’s Baker?”

“You don’t know?” Blip asked, peeking at him through the corner of his eye. “She said you guys still talk.”

Mike’s forehead crinkled as he frowned. “Yeah, yeah, um, it’s just been hard to touch base recently.”

“Whatever, man,” Blip turned into his driveway, cutting the engine and nodding to the backseat where Mike’s bags sat, “she’s already here, you can ask her yourself. Now, you gonna crash here tonight, or you want me to drop you off at your place later?”

“Either,” he huffed out a breath, throwing open the door and summoning up any of the waning courage he had left. “You ready to go in? I could eat.”

“Good,” he clapped his hand down on Mike’s shoulder, “Evie spent my last three paychecks on this dinner, so you damn well be ready to eat. I’m thinking you’re gonna have to eat your weight in stuffing or I’m gonna be shoveling down leftovers for the next year.”

“You got it.”

The noise slammed into them as they walked into the house, squeals and cries and the buzz of the television creating a cacophony of sound that Mike had come to associate with the Padres. He stepped forward, letting his jacket slip from his arms, and scanned the room.

“Lawson,” Salvamani exclaimed, tilting the neck of his beer bottle towards Mike. “Hey, guys, it’s the big, bad Cub.”

Dusty brushed past him, bumping his fist against Mike’s. “You gonna growl for us, Cub, or you need your mommy around for that?”

“Alright, alright,” he laughed, taking their ribbing in stride, “someone gonna get a beer for their former captain, or did you guys forget your manners once I left?”

“Here,” he stiffened, the voice behind him drawing across his skin, soft and lilting and bright. He spun around, time slowing as he took in as much of Ginny Baker as he could see. Fuck, there was a completely different woman standing in front of him, and yet, she hadn’t changed. Her eyes sparkled as she pushed the beer into his chest, her smile, so dazzling that he had to squint, transported him back to when she was his rookie and he her catcher. And the small part of her that had made him so sure that they would end up together still sparked as she shifted her weight to her left hip and quirked an eyebrow up at him.

“Baker,” he breathed, his fist clenching as her head cocked to the side.

“Mike,” she inched forward, hesitating for a quick moment before throwing her arms up and snaking them around his neck. “God, way to be a stranger.”

“Like you were any better,” he felt himself melting into the person he used to be when he was with her, light and easy and unbelievably happy.

“I called.”

“I texted.”

“You never answered,” she shot back.

“And you never replied.”

Her lips puckered into a frown. “I guess we both suck.” She reached forward, smoothing down his collar before stepping back. “But, find me later. Let’s catch up, or something. You can tell me all about what Kris Bryant thought of your whole ass-slapping thing.”

“Yeah,” he smiled, “I’ll be around.”

“Ginny,” Evelyn yelled from the kitchen, “get your annoyingly gorgeous face in here now. You’re on desserts.”

“Coming,” she called back, rolling her eyes before shooting Mike an apologetic smile. “Better get to the cake, god forbid the icing isn’t a work of art.” She bumped her shoulder against his before going over to the kitchen, her voice carrying into the living room as she and Evelyn began to argue.

“You fucked up.”

Mike shook off the haze that always seemed to overwhelm him when he was around ginny, glancing to the side and considering Tommy’s disapproving look with a frown of his own. “Want to repeat that, Miller?”

“Sure,” Tommy shoved his hands into his pockets, his eyes narrowing to a squint, “you fucked up, Lawson.”

“Why, by leaving your sorry ass behind?”

Tommy’s jaw ticked. “She cried. For weeks after you left, she went back into the shitty closet they called a locker room and bawled. And then she got back on the mound and she got us the second best season we’ve seen in the past decade. And for a minute there, we thought that billionaire boy would actually be good for her, but all of a sudden, you’re back with Rachel and Ginny’s crying in the damned closet again. All while still getting us to the playoffs.”

“You can’t put that all on me.”

“Sorry boss,” Mike’s frown deepened into a glower as Dusty came to stand behind Tommy. “But we can. It sucked when you left, and it didn’t help that you went on and got your ring, but things were different for you and Baker before you up and disappeared.”

“And what?” Mike ambled forward, only stopping when there was only space left for the tension brewing between him and Tommy. “You decided to become Baker’s protection squad? I leave and suddenly you two are so _close_?”

“She’s my teammate, and _I_  know what that means.” Tommy jerked his chin up. “I don’t just _abandon_ the people who rely on me.”

“Why don’t you stop hiding behind Baker and say what you mean, hmm?” Before he could stop himself, Mike’s palms were pressed to Tommy’s chest and he was pushing him back. “Come on.”

A growl crawled up Tommy’s throat as he staggered into Dusty. “Watch it.”

“No, Miller, let’s have it out. You have a problem with me, you damn well be able to speak up.”

Blip came up to them, two drinks in hand and his smile dimming. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Why you even here, man?” Tommy asked, his voice growing louder as he shoved Mike back a step. “Why don’t you just go back to Chicago? It’s obviously where you want to be. Not with the guys who played with you for years.” Shove. “Or the team you couldn’t even be bothered to say goodbye to.” Shove. “Or the girl you don’t deserve even though she’s so obviously in love with you!”

“ _Hey_!” They all stopped, Mike’s muscles twitched with barely-constrained rage, with the desperate urge to take back the last ten minutes, with the self-loathing he thought he’d put to rest years ago. He turned to where Evelyn stood fuming, oven mitts clenched in her fists and her chest heaving as she tried to calm herself. “Dinner is ready, but if you men are determined to behave like the children we’ve gathered to celebrate, then I’m not sure I feel like feeding you.”

Mike’s gaze moved past Evelyn to Ginny, her hands twisting the hem of her shirt and her expression stricken.

“Ginny,” he whispered, watching as she slid the cake she was holding onto the counter, brushed her hair from her face and then whirled on her heels and walked away. “No, wait, Baker!” He knocked Tommy out of the way, jogging after her and wincing at Evelyn’s glower.

“Come on,” he heard Blip cry, “let’s eat!”

“ _Your_  friends are ruining our sons’ birthday!” If Evelyn didn’t stomp her designer pumped foot like Mike knew she would then maybe he really had lost touch with his pseudo family in San Diego.

“Baker,” he said softly, pushing open the door to the Sanders’ game room, “come on, I’m old, you’re not gonna make me go searching around, are you?”

“Now that’s just lazy,” she murmured, looking small and pitiful curled into herself on the couch. “At least you used to put in some effort for these geriatric jokes.”

“Low blood sugar,” he shrugged, shuffling forward and lowering himself on the cushion beside her. “I’d say let’s go eat, but Tommy’ll probably spend the entire time wishing I’d choke.”

“Truth?” She peeked up at him through her lashes. “He wouldn’t be the only one.”

“Baker…”

“I don’t see you for three years. You said nothing would change, that you’d be back in San Diego and that we would still be us, or whatever. But instead, you disappear, and to make things just so much better, you come back after all these years and humiliate me.”

“I tried,” he fell back beside her, their shoulders brushing. “We both did.”

“And yet,” she blew out, her cheeks puffing out as they stared up at the ceiling, still covered in the green glow of the stars they’d help put up eons ago. A smile curled on his lips as he remembered that day, Ginny’s laugh echoing in his ears and the image of her in overalls dancing through his mind. “I don’t need Tommy or Rusty or anyone else speaking for me. I can do this myself.” She pushed herself upright, squaring her shoulders and injecting as much steel into her voice as she could manage.

“Can’t this wait for some day where everyone doesn’t want me dead?”

“It hurt,” she started, ignoring him as he groaned, “when you left. We _kissed_ and then you boarded a plane and that was it. And if you didn’t want us to become something more, then that’s fine. But I needed my friend when everything happened with Noah, and for all your talk of trying to make things work from different states, I called you and you never picked up. You had playoffs and then Rachel and I wasn’t enough. So don’t come here and try to act like nothing’s changed. You turned your back on the team a season before we won the playoffs.”

“I didn’t - “

She threw a hand up, stopping him before he could interrupt her and wetting her bottom lip. “And you turned your back on me.” She ran her hands through her hair. “And before you start, it’s not like you owed me anything because of one kiss, but, like, a heads-up about you and Rachel, or a call when my fucking engagement ended would’ve been nice.” She bolted up, pacing along the edge of the rug. “And you know what, maybe you did owe me that. Because before I even began thinking of saying yes to Noah, I called you first.”

“Rookie - “

“I’m not your Rookie anymore!” She cried, twisting long enough to scowl down at him. “And, another thing - “

Mike surged up, catching her by the shoulder and sending her tumbling into him. She stared up at him with wide eyes, a gasp ripping up her throat that only drowned away as he pressed his lips to hers. She stiffened and he screwed his eyes shut, cursing himself for every impulsive, ill-thought out decision he’d ever made. On the list of all his mistakes, as extensive as it was, this would definitely be at the top…or so he thought until, at least until her mouth moved underneath his and her arms wound around his waist.

“Wow,” she exhaled as he pulled back, his lips hovering just over hers and his grip on her tightening. “Okay, so, just really quick, don’t shut me up with kisses, not matter how good they are.”

“Duly noted,” he murmured, his gaze dipping back down to her mouth. “But, tell me there’s a but.”

“But,” her eyebrows knit together, “but,” she shook her head, pushing at his arms and stepping away, “but I can’t go through this with you again. You’re here for a week, maybe two tops, and then what? You head back to Chicago, I start blaming allergy season for all my shit again, and the guys stop looking at me like I’m their teammate and like I’m some sad little girl?”

“I’m moving back,” she blinked, doe-eyes warming with each passing second. “The last two seasons, they weren’t supposed to happen, and I’m done pushing my luck. I’m finished, and there’s no place I’d rather retire than here.”

“You’re coming back?” She asked disbelievingly, her face pinching with something between confusion and hope.

“I’m coming back and I’m sorry, I’m sorry for everything. For leaving and not letting you know every second of everyday that I missed you. I’m sorry I wasn’t in the stands the day you won the playoffs, I’m just. I’m sorry. I’d spend the rest of my life apologizing if I could, but -”

“God, just stop and kiss me,” she pulled his mouth onto hers, the tension curled in her body unfurling as they kissed. And kissed. And kissed until his mouth was sore and her jaw ached and the desperation for him that she’d locked away the second he left flooding her veins.

“We still have to talk about things,” she said between kisses, his hands roving over her body, pulling her in as close as she could get then closer still. “This doesn’t fix things between us.” His mouth cut a scorching path over her neck. “And I may have promised to let Tommy punch you at least once.” He straightened, just long enough to shot her a strange look, before catching her bottom lip between his teeth.

“Yes, Ginny, anything,” he promised, her name dropping like a prayer from his lips. Resting her forehead against his, she brushed one last lingering kiss to his mouth. “And just so you know, me and Rachel, it wasn’t anything.”

She couldn’t help but snort, because after everything that had just happened, of course Mike Lawson would still feel compelled to bring up an explanation that really could have waited. 

“Okay,” she nodded, “I guess I can give you a pass since I was literally about to marry another man.” The corner of his mouth ticked up into the grin she’d missed with an ache that only seemed to shut up now. “But Tommy still gets to punch you.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna talk about that later.”

“And Blip may or may not try and break your nose.”

“This all better be negotiable.” She reached down, intertwining their fingers, both warm and callused, and deciding that she liked the feeling, no matter how strange it might be.

“They’re a loyal bunch,” she said, letting him tug her out of the room. “Just, try and take it, you’re retired now, who cares if you get injured?”

“So glad I came back, Baker.”

She stopped them right before they got to the door that led to the backyard, the conversation shattering the calm that had settled around them. “Me too,” she grinned, pressing a kiss to his cheek before the walked out of the house.

“All right,” Evelyn cried, standing up and waving at the rest of the guys, “who had half an hour?”

Salvamani jogged forward, sending a wink over at Mike and Ginny before slapping his hand against Evelyn’s and collecting the money their bastard friends had bet on their relationship.

“Yeah,” Mike grumbled, yanking Ginny into his side and rolling his eyes, “real, _real_  glad I came back.”


	10. Do you...well...I mean...I could give you a massage?

Gritting his teeth, Mike sunk into the icy water, flicking at a piece of ice as he tried to adjust to the cold. If his screaming knees and throbbing back were any indication, practice had been a grueling exercise in punishment and perfectionism, but the Padres were inching towards the playoffs, and he wasn’t about to let his aging body become a barrier to the dream so close he could taste it. Still, the normally soothing frigid water seemed to only freeze his various aches into place, a silent agony that quivered underneath the surface of his skin. He sighed, shifting down just a little farther and making a mental note to see the team’s physical therapist. He needed to last another season, two tops, and then maybe he would listen to the signs his body had been holding up pretty consistently over the last few years.

Mike’s eyes had just begun to flutter close when he heard a frustrated groan and a high-pitched hiss that came from a voice that he knew as well as his own. The water had lost its biting chill, so he pushed up and out of the tub, grabbing for a towel and welcoming the goosebumps that danced up and down his skin.

“That can’t be comfortable,” he murmured, inching into the clubhouse and frowning down at Ginny as she pressed further into a stretch, one leg thrown behind her and the other a breath from her chest.

“It’s not,” she grunted, falling onto her back and huffing out a breath. “I didn’t feel like heading home after practice, so I hit the gym and I think I pulled something.” She finally glanced up, her eyes widening for a quick moment before her eyelids screwed shut. “I’ve been trying to stretch it out for the last fifteen minutes, but I still feel the damn twinge.”

“We’ve got a game in three days, Rookie.”

“And you’re dripping all over the floor,” she propped herself up onto her elbows, “got any other facts for me?”

“Cranky Baker, fun.” He deadpanned, making sure his towel would stay in place before offering her a hand. “Although, a piece of advice?” She cocked an expectant eyebrow. “Maybe less backchat to the one person around to help you.”

She yanked herself up, wincing as her weight settled into her bad leg. “Okay,” she panted, “fair. It probably just needs rest, if you can help me to my car.”

“Not a chance,” he wrapped her arm around his shoulders, hoping she wouldn’t notice the shiver that traveled up his spine. “Next thing you know, that leg’ll be as useless as that fastball of yours.”

She barked out a laugh, hopping beside him as he ushered her over to one of the PT tables. “So what do you suggest then?” She asked. “Because unless you’ve got a time machine, all I can really do is ice it?” 

Mike thought back to the first time he felt the first flicker of pain in his back, an unbidden memory rising up and setting his cheeks aflame.

Tilting her head to the side, Ginny watched him as e squirmed, her eyes cutting a path over the flush of red that began in his chest and moved up to the tips of his ears. “What?”

“Nothing,” he spit out gruffly, clearing his throat. “You’re right, ice, rest, sounds good.”

“Come on, Old Man,” she teased, “don’t get all shy on me now.”

He scratched at his head, trying to figure where his duties as her captain and teammate ended and his insanity began. “Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?”

Ginny blinked, suddenly finding it hard to swallow. “A massage?”

He was an idiot, he could see as much written all over her face, and yet he couldn’t stop his words from spewing out. “Should get the muscle nice and loose, and speed up recovery too.”

“Right,” she nodded slowly, her lips puckering as she took in his towel, and then the irritatingly small nature of the tight shorts she’d chosen to run in. “Yeah, okay.”

“Okay?”

She rolled her eyes, swinging her legs over the table and laying on her stomach. “You gonna keep echoing me or…?”

He forced his mind blank, his gaze roving over the length of smooth brown skin suddenly presented to him before he reached for her with trembling hands. “How does this feel?” He murmured, gently digging his fingers into the tense muscle and waiting for it to unfurl. She hummed, her teeth caught between her lip and her eyebrows furrowed. “So why didn’t you want to go home anyway?”

“You’re still here,” she countered, her word strained as she held her breath.

“I had a date with an ice bath.”

“Most have been a good one if you’re already naked.”

His lips perked up into a smile before he had the chance to stop it, his hands stilling just underneath the curve of an ass so perfect it didn’t seem fair. “You should do stand up.”

“Not like I have much else going on right now,” she joked breezily, glancing at him from over her shoulder. “Noah’s waiting for me,” she admitted, the laughter dying from her eyes. “And I would rather be here.”

His thumb stroked over her skin, the motion a surprise to them both. “Figure if you’ve got to maim yourself to get out of a date, things aren’t going so great.”

Ginny chewed on her cheeks, twisting back around and plunking her chin on her hand. “Doesn’t matter,” she decided. “Anyway, what’s the hold up, Lawson? I was promised a massage, not a heart-to-heart.”

Mike knew better than to keep pushing after being called off, so even though questions weighed down heavily on his tongue, he swallowed them. For now. Besides, since she’d started dating the tech nerd he hadn’t had much time with her. He wasn’t going to waste these few moments reminding Ginny of her billionaire boyfriend.

Maybe it would have been safer to remember that Noah _did_  exist though, because with each soft gasp that she didn’t seem to realize she was letting out, his fingers grew bolder, more curious. Her thighs, while strong and muscular, were surprisingly soft, and he was desperate to know how much of the the rest of her would be too. How her ass would feel cupped in his palm, how her skin would feel against his lips. And as he searched and pinched and tickled, she let him, her shoulders moving with her labored breath.

“God, Mike, right there,” she moaned, shattering the silence that had settled around them and shooting spikes of want down to his groin, which was quickly becoming a problem. She darted up, eyes wide and hazy, her lips parted and her chest heaving. “I mean,” she coughed, “you got it, much better. Thanks.” She hopped down, her stare landing anywhere but on him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Baker,” he called, unsure of what he would say if she did turn around. Don’t worry, that got to me too? Sorry for coping a feel? Help me out with my hard on and I’ll damn well help you out with yours?

“Ice,” she threw over her shoulder, “compression. Rest.”

She was gone before he could think of a way to get her back, her moan still playing through his ears and his name falling from her lips a painful taunt that settled low in his belly.

Thank God he hadn’t dumped the ice bath. He would definitely be needing it now.


	11. Wanna Bet?

This was all Ginny’s fault. At least, that’s what Mike told himself as he stood in front of their bedroom mirror, his skin tingling with embarrassment and his mood darkening as the seconds passed.

“Come on, Lawson,” Ginny called, her giggle tinkling in the air and a mocking lilt to her words.

“Fuck it,” he sighed, squinting at his reflection one last time before throwing the door open and walking into the hallway.

* * *

“Falcons,” Mike declared three hours earlier, passing Blip a beer before settling back down on the couch. Ginny glanced up at him from her spot by his chest, her fingers tapping a beat against his arm and her foot tickling the length of his calf.

“As much as I hate to say it,” she grinned, moving from the couch over onto Mike’s lap, “there’s no way Brady won’t win. Pats got in the bag, and we just have to accept it. Besides, shouldn’t one aging all-star” she added, her mouth ghosting along the side of Mike’s, “support the other?”

“Brady’s a jackass,” Mike murmured, catching her lips with his own, “and I’m _not_  aging.”

“Tell that to your ear hair and social security checks.”

“Funny,” he droned, biting back a smile as she grinned at him, her smile curling around his heart and giving it a squeeze. “But you’re wrong on both fronts. Me and Brady aren’t anything alike, I’m too good looking for that mook, and, he’s going down.”

She cocked an eyebrow, a challenge glistening in her eyes just as the ball flew through the air for the first time that night. “Wanna bet?” 

He swallowed as she shifted, his breath catching in his chest as she got comfortable, much to his growing discomfort. “You playing dirty?”

“I’m playing to win,” she purred. “The usual bet?”

“Laundry and dishes?” He laughed, his arms flexing as they wrapped around her waist. “No way. I think it’s time for that thing.”

Ginny twisted, her lips puckering into a frown. “Absolutely not.” She growled, yelping as his fingers pinched into her side. “You promised not to bring up,” she cast a furtive glance around the room, making sure to keep her voice low before her nosy teammates decided to tune into their conversation, “ _that thing_  again.”

“Yeah, well…” he trailed off, rolling his eyes as Javanes jumped up with a scream, spilling beer along the coffee table that had cost him more than he was willing to admit. “Shouldn’t talk a big game if you aren’t ready to back it up, Rookie.”

She jutted out her chin, torn between a willful stubbornness and the dread that could be coming three hours from now. “You’re on,” she decided, sealing their bet with one last bounce over his throbbing crotch. He coughed out a laugh, his heart thrumming with the promise of his reward. Ginny, with her devilish grin, light cheers and quickly dwindling smirks, could spend the next three hours trying to drive him wild. In the end, it wouldn’t matter. The Falcons, and Mike by extension, would be winning.

Or, so he thought.

By the middle of the fourth quarter, Ginny was out his arms and standing beside the couch, letting Livan twirl her as they glowed with victory, their chants twirling around him in a teasing melody. “ _We’re going to win, we’re going to win_ …”

“You’re twenty-four,” he threw behind him, snatching the beer from Blip’s hands and draining it in seconds.

“Dude,” Blip cried, smacking at the back of Mike’s head. “Evie’s got me on a two beer limit.”

“You don’t know what’s at stake, man.” Ginny stretched over the back of the chair, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. 

“But I do,” she sang, biting down on the shell of his ear. “Hope you’re ready.”

Mike blanched, lunging for the beer Blip grabbed and twisting off the top.

“Lawson!”

“Not now,” he growled.

* * *

And, with a twenty-five point gain in the time it took Mike to blink, and a historic overtime touchdown, the game was over and the Patriots had won. _Ginny_ had won. And as much as Mike wanted to blame her, and he really,  _really_  did, he should have just bet on the laundry and the dishes like she’d wanted. Because, as much as she hated handling his jockstrap and scrubbing sticky pans, he wouldn’t have minded throwing her sports bras and thongs into their washer/ drier. Even dealing with the burnt mess she called dinner would be better than this.

He strode into the hallway, his shoulders back and his chin up even as her eyes widened with glee and a giggle hiccuped out of her mouth.

“Oh my God,” she exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of her toes as she clapped. Her eyes moved over his body, to the frilly mesh skirt stretched over his hips to the see-through material straining across his chest. With a sigh, he raised the duster that came with the costume, brushing it along his apron and watching as her body shook with laughter.

“We’re burning this thing.”

“I don’t know,” Ginny breathed, forcing her expression into something of mock seriousness, “I sort of get why you wanted me to keep mine.”

“Sure,” he said gruffly, “just not why you had to go and buy a matching set.”

She shrugged, pressing a hand to his stomach to feel the muscles shift underneath her touch, and began to nudge him back. “I’m thinking,” she started slowly, “we talk later, and you get to cleaning now.”

He hummed, feeling the back of his knees bump into the bed. “Really?”

“Yep, I’m done playing dirty. Now,” she trailed off, “I just want to be it.”

He fell backwards, looping his arms around her waist and taking her with him. And it didn’t matter that this wasn’t the first, the second or the twentieth time they had done this, it still felt brand new having her settle between his legs, the slide of her mouth against his skin setting his heart on overdrive.

“I’m sorry,” she giggled, her tongue dragging over his bottom lip, “but while the whole french maid thing is very funny, it’s not really working for me.”

“Oh, it’s not?” He slammed her down against the mattress, a gasp ripping up her throat before his mouth was slanting hers and his hands were everywhere he could reach. “How about now?”

Her fingers danced along his arms, pulling him closer, pawing at the damned costume that was quickly turning into the best part of his night, and she groaned as his hips fit against hers. “You know,” she panted, “I’m getting there.” He sucked in a sharp breath, her shirt somehow finding its way to the floor and a tear crawling along the side of his costume. 

“Oh,” Ginny scrambled up from underneath him at the sound of a disbelieving gasp, her arms folding across her chest and a blush spilling across her cheeks. Blip’s gaze moved from her over to Mike, his narrowed eyes widening with each painful heartbeat that passed. “I’ll be damned.”

“Blip…”

Blip held up his hands, inching backwards as he shook his head. “Nope, don’t want to know.” He decided. “Just…wow.”

They waited for Blip to disappear, Ginny’s hand clapped over her mouth and Mike, still half dressed as a french maid, flopped onto his back. “Fuck the Falcons.” He grunted, throwing an arm over his eyes and praying for death.

“And thank God for the Patriots.”


	12. Wait a minute, are you jealous?

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Ginny murmured, taking Mike’s bloody hand and cradling it in her own. He ignored the urge to wince, his gaze boring into hers as she dragged a damp towel over his raw knuckles.

“Yeah, I’ve been told,” he sighed, “but this wasn’t exactly my fault.”

She quirked an eyebrow, and he tucked his free hand underneath his thigh before his mutinous fingers had the chance to trace the thin crease running along her forehead. “That was you who put your fist through a wall, right?” She pressed down a bit harder, cocking her head to the side as he hissed. “Or do I suddenly need glasses?”

“You’ve got a terrible bed side manner,” he barked, jerking out of her hold and shaking out his hand.

“I don’t get it,” she continued as if he’d never spoken, “no one forced you to brutalize your cubby, so how is this not your fault?”

“They have your magazine.” He fumed, shooting up from his seat as that anger, the one that ended with the throbbing pain in his fist, pricked at the back of his mind, searching for release. Frowning, Ginny folded her arms across her chest, staring up at him expectantly. He rubbed at his chin, ducking his head so that she wouldn’t see the beginnings of a blush creeping up his cheeks. “The one you did, you know, that showed off all your…” he swallowed roughly, his eyes flicking away from her face down to the sports bra and leggings that hugged her lean, muscular frame, “assets.”

She blinked, struggling to understand his darkened expression and the rage that seemed to be following him for the past few weeks, her lips parting as it finally clicked.

And then, because somehow today hadn’t been humiliating enough for Mike, she giggled, a surprising little sound that had her clapping her hand over her mouth. Her thin shoulders quivered, laughter slipping out of the cracks in her fingers, and soon she was bowled over, that horsey chuckle of hers curling around Mike’s head.

“This isn’t funny.”

Standing, Ginny shook her head, her lips pressed together in a barely restrained grin. “You were trying to, what? Defend my honor?” Another hiccuping laugh escaped up her throat. “Thanks, but I think you should probably worry about yourself.”

“Everyone, the entire team, waslooking at _you_ ,” he replied, a part of him genuinely confused even as his anger died away. There was something about her smile, the way it set something hot and comforting off in his chest. It was impossible not smile back, to want to be the reason she was so happy.

She nodded, bumping her shoulder up into a shrug. “I know,” she said, “because I bought it for them.”

It had been Amelia’s idea to have her be in ESPN’s body issue. They’d just barely dodged a bullet with Trevor and the leaked pictures, but that didn’t mean that the world wasn’t curious about Ginny Baker, sans uniform or a pretty dress. She was a young, beautiful woman, and while it was the first time that someone tried to exploit her body, Amelia doubted it would be the last. So, this was the best solution, taking out any major threats by exposing herself to the world before someone else could.

A part of Ginny was glad for this plan, even if it made her sick with nerves whenever she thought of the glossy black pictures. It felt like an honor, being on the same pages as Serena Williams and Jake Arrieta. And, even though all the Padres had given her a hard time when they found out that their pitcher would be on the cover of ESPN with nothing but a baseball mitt and a smile, she wouldn’t be hiding. Not from the public, and not from her team. So, she bought fifty copies of the magazine when it came out and left them by the clubhouse door.

And she’d only scoffed a little when Voorhies and Salvamani had asked for an autograph, right over her good parts. They were idiots, but they were her idiots, and as long as they all promised to not hang her shots by their things, she was okay.

“W-why?” He sputtered, red spilling into his neck and across his chest.

“It’s my body,” she declared, leaving no room for argument, “and I get to decide who sees it. Me, not some hacker and not you.” He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, and she could feel herself softening. “Is this why you’ve been so crabby lately? Because of the body issue?”

Mike scratched at the back of his head, irritated with himself. How was it that even though she was the one with naked pictures floating around the goddamn country, he felt exposed?

“It’s not about your honor,” he admitted sheepishly, “although I’d protect that too if I could. I just hate that idea of anyone seeing you like that.” He gestured at her helplessly, his mouth dry as he took in every inch of smooth, chocolate skin he could see.

“Like what?” The corner of her lips ticked up, a dangerous idea forming from the gleam in his eye. She took a step forward, rewarded with the swoop in her stomach when he inched back.

“Baker,” he warned, needed the space from her to stay sane, to keep from lunging at her and kissing that mischievous smirk from her mouth like he should have done the day they met.

She threw up a hand, silencing him as she continued her prowl. “Wait a minute, Lawson?” She purred, closing the gap between them. “You jealous?”

“Jealous?”

“That ESPN asked you and not me?” She teased, keeping her tone light even as something electric filled the air, stealing the breath from her chest.

He bumped into the wall, caught as she pressed her hands to space near his head, her body leaning into his, just enough for her to hear him gulp.

“You know that’s not it,” he murmured, eyes dipping down to her lips.

She wasn’t smiling anymore, uncertain of what to do now that she’d pushed this, him, them to this point. “Then what?” She urged. “You’ve got to say it.”

He forgot the pain in his hand as he took her by the waist and whirled them around, humming as he pinned her to the wall. “No one sees that body but _me_ ,” he growled. And there it was, the reason he’d felt so crazy the past few weeks, hell, since she’d stepped onto his field. He was a powder keg and she was all the spark he needed to explode. Which, if he wasn’t careful, he would, right there and then with his body pressed to his and her eyes as wild as he felt. “Got it, Rookie?”

A ghost of a smile twitched on her lips, and he felt the anticipation mount in his belly. It was quickly replaced with confusion as she ducked underneath his arm, sucking in a deep breath before patting him on the shoulder.

“You stop beating up plywood and we’ll see.”


End file.
